Lord of the Rings: Space Opera
by Mockingtale Bright
Summary: Aragorn is a Space Ranger, Legolas has dreams of opening a pizzeria and the Hobbits are a species famous for their Space Diners. Then comes the RING. How would the Quest have gone with space lasers, a Death Star-imitate and monsters made of intergalactic cheeseballs? Meanwhile, two dorks from Earth unwittingly board a spaceship.


**The author does not write this for personal gai– Oh, who am I kidding? The author needs an outlet to deal with the '**_**wonderful**_**' days of an almost grown-up that does not involve shooting aliens and screaming at people on Xbox LIVE. **

**So I've started reading 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. I'm really excited because I have not watched the movie blah blah blah let's continue.**

_Aragorn is a Space Ranger, the Elves are retiring leaders of the Intergalatic Federation and the Hobbits are a species famous for their Space Diners. Then comes the RING. How would the Quest have gone with space lasers, a Death Star-imitate and monsters made of intergalactic cheeseballs? Meanwhile, two dorks from Earth unwittingly board a spaceship. _

It's not easy chasing down criminals in space.

Okay, have you ever played 'The Floor is made of Lava'? It's that game where you can't touch the floor, because if you do, you die (obviously). Hence you spend your entire afternoon hopping from closet to closet, scaling the walls like some stupid Spiderman-wannabe until you crash to the floor, break your limbs and die.

Either in-game or real life. Or both.

Either way, being in space is like that. Except that the floor is not made of lava, because there is no floor, there's the entire space around. You don't burn and go out in a blaze of barbeque, you just get really, really small. Just, small. And squishy. Rubbish collectors do this all the time to rubbish.

It's called compacting. Except you're not rubbish, you're people, so not only do you get really, really small and squishy, you get suffocated with your lungs and bones made into mincemeat while blood rushes into your throat. And except you're not _just _people, oh no, you're a Space Ranger zooming down that abandoned freeway down in the Middle-Arth System in a rusted tin bucket, and you're really really nervous while going really really fast because you were kinda sleeping when Halbarad was explaining _why _you couldn't go above Mach 5.

You were currently at Mach 6.

"Give it up, Ranger! Haw haw, you'll never catch me!"

Another thing about catching criminals. See, due to the inconveniences of space, you could not exactly just park the spaceship, hop out with lasers blazing while wearing that awesome leather jacket you got at Harley Davidson. You do that, you die, just like in 'The Floor is made of Lava', or in the rubbish compacter.

To catch a criminal in space, you either a) Ram him or b) Laser him with your spaceship gun. Either way, both are very dangerous ventures that could end up with both you and criminal splattered across the freeway. You don't even have the dignity of remaining a very interesting stain on the floor. Your guts just float around in space, scaring all the space tourists.

Even Middle-Arth residents had started to complain. "Ooh, mum! I see a star! Look! It even has fingers!", "Oh really, honey? That's wonder– ah, that's not a star. Back away from the window now, John."

"HAW HAW HAW! I hope you're not too _winded_, Space Ranger!" The criminal in the purple hypnoglasses gloated. And bloated. And croaked.

The criminal was a frog. But not just any frog, it was a _Space _frog, and hence all principles concerning science fiction demand that this frog is sentient, and quite very annoying. For the sake of stereotype and because you're already imagining it, I will go ahead and confirm that yes, this frog is green.

Don't ask what shade.

Anyway, Aragorn was zooming down the abandoned freeway 17* in his Century Pigeon* while attempting to avoid the space debris and space junk. Once again, he was bitterly reminded of the galactic population's disregard for their space environment. When he was a child, he was brought up by Space Elves and hence inherited their love of the glorious stars and all things obsessively-germ-odour-dwarf free. Space was a vacuum. Not a vacuum cleaner, dammit.

*_The freeway 17 was right next to freeway 17A, all the way to 17Z, in which the next freeway would then be freeway 18. This system of numbering freeways was produced by Glorfindel of the Golden Cheesecake, and was born out of his worry that due to the immense infinite size of the Universe, they would rapidly reach the last number in the universe, and hence run out of numbers. _

_*The Century Pigeon GX-07's AI has been known activate their vessels to suddenly chase toddlers holding breadcrumbs. _

He edged his spaceship just a few milliseconds faster. The meters on his dashboard were going nuts and his AI was screaming at him and calling him some not very nice names, a fact which he promptly ignored. A rough hand flicked a red switch and immediately, a console jumped into his hands. Outside, three canon lasers were raised.

Yeeeeaaaaah, bitch!

Pew pew pew! _WHOOSH! BOOM! _He just turned an abandoned sofa into dust! One of the slow blasts caught the hull of the criminal's ship and nudged him (it?) off course, leading to his collision into a floating pile of pesticide, dumped there courtesy of big corporations whose employees have butter fingers (Oops, sir. I 'accidentally' dumped a buttload of junk into an abandoned freeway. Hence saving our company millions of dollars. I demand a pay raise.)

"NOOOOOOOO!" The frog uttered a shrill, slimy scream over the comms, and there was an explosion of green and brown fire before vanishing abruptly. Aragorn halted his ship at the edge of the explosion immediately, breathing heavily.

He had been chasing that frog for three hours. He was exhausted. Also, his ship's AI had started to pump carbon dioxide into the cabin.

He barked at his AI to stop doing just exactly that, in which it promptly sulked and slinked (audio-wise) away. He then chartered a course for Rivendell. He suddenly missed that place, and his foster father, and his almost-girlfriend. Besides, his foster father was one of the heads of the Intergalatic Federation, and he had terrible, terrible news concerning some sentient doughnut-which-may-be-a-necklace-or-a-very-evil-ring.

~0~

Arwen Evenstar was the most beautiful person in the entire Universe.

Of course, in a place where you could have tentacles coming out of your chin or an inflatable skin balloon on your back, beauty was a very objective thing. You could not compare an apple to an orange, or in this case, a Lutherian Squid to a Rocktile Chihuahua. It was the secondary reason why they stopped holding 'Miss Universe' pageants eons ago. The primary reason was that Varda was pissed when she lost the first pageant.

Erestor has been losing every bet he ever placed since then. Every bet.

But Arwen? Arwen _shone_… which she should, since she was an Elf, and all Elves shine. It's in their diet, something about glowing salads or something. But regardless, it was generally agreed that she had a gorgeous glow about her, coupled with her white skin, raven-silk hair, ageless wisdom and the eye on the back of her head.

Some elves have an eye on the back of their head. Some have considered it a gift, having a third eye. That way, there would not be any chances of them falling victim to backstabbing, gossip behind their backs, and knowing the identity of the occasional fanboy-turned-stalker.

Arwen liked the eye on the back of her head. She named it Martha. She swore she felt it blink once.

Now Arwen Evenstar was slightly irritated. Aragorn, her almosy-boyfriend-because-Ada-is-_so _-possessive had not visited her for months. She suspected it had something to do with the Space guard dogs she had seen the other day, what with their ten heads each and her father holding Aragorn's old leather jacket for them to sniff, then tossing it for them to 'catch'.

Then them promptly ripping that leather jacket apart.

Either way, Aragorn had told her that he loved her, and their last comms had ended with a 'I miss you so much', 'I miss you too' and 'I think Elrond looks like he is going to kill me." If he had loved her so much, it was only proper that he visit her at least regularly! She was withering in this place, where her father kept pestering her to undertake the great journey over the Sea to the Valinor System. She _didn't want _to go, she had a modeling job and a boyfriend who loves her! She had everything she needed! Why couldn't her father see that?

"Oh Arwen!" Her maid called, bounding up the stairs and tugging her skirt with her teeth. "Aragorn has been sported near here! You must hurry up and change if you want to look pretty!"

**I have no idea what I'm doing.**


End file.
